


Rest

by angededesespoir



Series: McHanzo Week [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Dragons, M/M, Other, PTSD implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 04:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11283528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angededesespoir/pseuds/angededesespoir
Summary: It’s not a surprise when he finds him on the balcony. They’re both no stranger to nights void of sleep.This wasn't the sight he was expecting to see, though.





	Rest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cyberia](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Cyberia).



> _*Forces my way out of a Writing Slump* There are events to participate in!_
> 
> _I wrote this for both McHanzo Week- Day 4- Red/Blue & the Gency Never Dies! Summer Gift Exchange, as a gift for Cyberia! (I hope you like it!)_
> 
> _(Also on[Tumblr](http://angededesespoir.tumblr.com/post/162531223720/rest).)_

It’s not a surprise when he finds him on the balcony. They’re both no stranger to nights void of sleep, to the sun creeping over the horizon, burning weary eyes.

He’s watched from afar, joined Hanzo a few times when he’s found the guts and the man seemed open to company for once. They never really talked much, and when talking did occur, it was mostly Jesse doing it. They mainly sat in silence, passing a bottle between them.

So it’s not a surprise when he finds him here; it’s part of a routine. Only this time Hanzo’s not meditating or drinking or staring at the sky, trapped in a vision of the past, a hand absent-mindedly tracing scars.

No, what he finds is Hanzo sleeping on the hard ground, jug of sake still half full, the occasional snore emitted. It’s the most peaceful he’s ever seen the man. A part of him wonders how long it’s been since he last slept. It must have been awhile to exhaust him so, because Genji once told him that his brother was a very light sleeper; the jangle of Jesse's spurs should have been enough to disturb him.

He decides, after a few seconds of watching the steady rise and fall of a broad chest, and the stream of drool sliding to the floor, that he should go before he wakes him.

He turns to leave, trying to move as quietly as possible. 

But then there’s a gust of wind- the kind that chills you even when you’re donning several layers. He shivers and hesitates. It’s too risky to try to carry the man inside, but the least he can do, until he can return with a proper blanket-

He turns back to face him, easing forward as his hands work to undo the serape. He’s about 3 feet away when it happens. 

From Hanzo’s arm a translucent figure emerges- its’ body long, details quickly manifesting. It glows a bright, pulsing blue in the dim light, its’ teeth bared and a low, feral growl reaching his ears.

Of course. He had to have triggered the aggressive, hyper-defensive one. It wouldn’t be the first time, and he knew it [probably] wouldn’t be his last. 

“Whoa, there, now. I ain’t gonna do him no harm.” His hands are tight on the fabric of the clothing he had nearly dropped. McCree holds up the serape, the dragon’s eyes glaring holes into it. “Just wanna put this on him for a tick; make sure he don’t freeze. That okay?”

Jesse can’t deny that his heart’s beating something fierce as he gazes at the creature, preparing for whatever reaction he’ll receive. 

It’s a long few seconds before he receive a snort and another growl. Then the dragon is slowly slinking back into the shadows, eyes glaring.

McCree jumps at the chance before the creature changes its’ mind. “Thank you kindly, partner.” 

He crouches down, one knee resting on the floor as he softly draps the red cloth, worn by age and elements, over the sleeping man. He wishes he could stay longer, watch over him, make sure he didn’t suffer through a nightmare in the middle of the night (which, he guesses, is part of the reason Hanzo doesn’t sleep much to begin with).

He’d love to stay, but the dragon is letting out another warning growl, so he forces himself back up. He flicks his eyes over to the dragon, nodding his head in acknowledgement. “I’ll be taking my leave now. Might come back in a bit with something warmer, if you don’t mind.”

A puff of smoke is huffed from the dragon’s nostrils and he’s not entirely sure how he’s supposed to interpret that, so he simply tips his hat. “Goodnight to ya then.”

\--

He waits until he can no longer hear the the jingling of spurs and the pad of boots, and then he dares to blink his eyes. The world is blurry for a few seconds as he rubs at his eyes and wipes his mouth.

He doesn’t sit up. A part of him still hopes he can slip back into the oblivion of sleep. The other part knows it’s useless even trying. Not with the scent of the cowboy so close to him; not with the promise of his potential return.

He pulls the serape closer, strokes the thinning cloth, still such a deep and lovely red, between his fingers. He presses it to his nose and inhales.

Perhaps Daichi was right. Perhaps he should allow the man to get closer.

He closes his eyes. “Fumihiko,” he whispers, and can sense the dragon perk up, gliding toward him.

He continues to stroke the cloth, the action soothing.

“Let him stay next time.”

**Author's Note:**

> _The first time I've been able to complete something in a month. *Lays down* I wish I could've written something longer, but I guess this will do._
> 
> _Also, dang- it's been awhile since I produced some McHanzo- oops._


End file.
